


Be Very Careful What You Wish For

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: TinkerBella asked for me to do a d'Artagnan whumper and this is what I came up with.She also asked for it to be set between end of season one and beginning season two.See notes at bottom.++++





	Be Very Careful What You Wish For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinkerBella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinkerBella/gifts).



_En route to Calais_

“Kid’s pauldron’s so shiny and new it’s nearly blindin’ me from back ‘ere.” Riding beside his friend Porthos chuckled throwing a quick wink at Aramis, knowing his voice carried over to the young Gascon.

“Perhaps we could find some shade to ride under to block out the sun’s rays.” Grinning, Aramis joined in the jesting, raising his voice just enough for their youngest to hear. “Then your vision would be safe, mon ami.”

Riding up in front, alongside Athos, d’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “Athos!” he nearly whined his mentor’s name but caught himself just in time, “how long do I have to put up with _that_?”

“I believe Aramis once told you,” twinkling blue eyes settled on the younger man, “until tis no longer fun or something to that affect.” Noting the boy hang his head down, shaking it back and forth, Athos’ lips curled upward. “Take heed, d’Artagnan. The longer you are around them the more ammunition you will garner to throw in their faces later.”

“Ah, Athos! We gotta ‘av our fun somehow.” Casting his eyes to the side, Porthos snickered loudly. “Ain’t that right, Mis?”

“D’Artagnan, next watering hole we stop at I think we should take care of your problem.” Covering his mouth with a gloved hand to withhold his mirth, Aramis felt Porthos lightly punching him in the arm in agreement.

“Do something, Athos!” Sliding his eyes to his right, glancing at his mentor, d’Artagnan caught a look on the older man’s face that he never witnessed before. It could only be described as mischievous.

“It is too shiny and new, pup.”

Ignoring the older man’s remark, d’Artagnan decided to talk to Zad instead of his friends. Actually, the more he thought upon it, d’Artagnan had better conversations with his horse of late than with the inseparables. They were bound and determined to tease him to death, ever since he became the king’s champion.

Laughing so hard, Aramis nearly came out of his saddle, he still managed to say his piece. “How the mighty have fallen. The youngster chooses to speak with his horse over any of us.”

“Did you say something of consequence, Aramis?” With a lazy glance over his shoulder at the marksman, Athos’ blue eyes danced.

“How much longer to Calais?" Bored, d’Artagnan wished something would happen to break up the monotony. Anything would be better than putting up with this constant teasing his brothers delighted in heaping upon his head.

“’Eh, whelp, ya talkin’ ta us or ta Zad?”

“What do you think?” d’Artagnan fired back, definitely not in the mood to prolong conversation.

“Let’s see.” Thinking on how long they’ve already been traveling, Porthos quickly calculated in his head. “Been on the road four and a half days. So a couple more and we should be there.”

“In a rush are we, d’Artagnan” Lips twitching, Aramis couldn’t help ribbing their youngest member. It was just too much fun plus he was running out of things to tell the lad about what was needed to be a _good Musketeer_.

“Stuff it, Aramis!”

“Whatever happened to respecting your elders?” Trying to sound stern, Athos’ amused expression said otherwise.

“Watch whom you’re calling old, Athos,” Aramis complained gayly.

“That particular shoe fits ya more than it does me and Mis.” His rough laughter mingled with the marksman’s but it didn’t make Porthos miss their leader’s sour look.

Even though they annoyed him at times, listening to his brothers bantering back and forth made d’Artagnan feel good inside. He was a part of them. Part of something he never thought would happen. After his near death experience at the hands of Labarge in the Bastille, somehow the impossible became possible. It truly had been a miracle, because d’Artagnan had let his heart overrule his head at the time. If it hadn’t been for Athos, he probably would have been lying dead at that batard’s feet before he could ever get the chance of winning his commission.

Noting the bright smile lighting up his protégé’s face, Athos was curious as to what had brought it about. He was on the verge of posing that question to the youth but never got a chance to utter it, because from that point on things fell apart quite drastically.

Seemingly out of nowhere came charging a band of malandrins with nothing but robbery and murder on their minds. They were large in number, splitting up to surround the four Musketeers.

“Merde!” Just once Porthos wanted a nice, uneventful mission. Just once. Was that asking too much? Apparently it was while he watched their enemy circle around them. “Athos! To your left!” He shouted out a warning, while lashing out with his rapier at his own attacker. Then throwing himself off Roulette’s back Porthos took on two more, brandishing his poignard in one hand and his pistol in the other.

Aramis was likewise engaged in his own battle. His opponent was nearly as large, and even taller, than Porthos. Slicing through the malandrin’s jacket he drew first blood, enraging his adversary. “Wouldn’t you simply like to surrender to a more superior strength?” He actually took a moment to tip his chapeau at the other man.

Grinning, showing a set of rotting teeth, the man made a powerful lunge at the Musketeer. “Maybe I would if I was faced with it,” he cackled at the obvious insult he just dealt to this arrogant Musketeer.

“Then I shall have to prove my point.” Using the pommel of his rapier he delivered a harsh blow to his opponent’s head. Standing over the unconscious fellow, Aramis admired his handiwork. He had knocked the criminal out cold it would seem. With a careless shrug of one shoulder, Aramis walked over the man’s body to see if any of his brothers needed aid.

In time to observe Porthos smashing a malandrin in the teeth with a heavy fist, Aramis clapped his hands. “Couldn’t have done better myself!” he yelled out. Then he regarded Athos as his brother thrust a blade in the side of another adversary. When the dead man keeled over, Aramis made the sign of the cross over the malandrin's body. "It would seem that neither of you need my help." Thinking that perhaps d'Artagnan was in need of Aramis' expertise, he went to find the young Gascon. 

Not able to locate the boy Aramis was left wondering where d’Artagnan had gone off too, since he hadn't caught sight of the lad in their immediate area. Figuring the pup may have taken his own battle somewhere in the wooded area, he didn’t think too much of it at the time. The younger man could hold his own against nearly anyone, which Aramis could attest too firsthand. This would give d'Artagnan more experience to put under his belt and something to boast about at The Wren.

“Mis!” Whistling loudly to get his friend’s attention, Porthos waved the marksman over. “This ain’t a time ta be daydreamin’!”

Pointing over to the men Aramis had either killed or wounded, he glared at his brother. “The evidence stares you in the face, mon ami, that I have not been doing so.”

“’Ere.” Shoving one of the malandrins Porthos had wounded at Aramis, he also threw some rope to the marksman. “’Elp me tie these ones up and I’ll ‘elp with yours.”

Striding over to them Athos gazed from one brother to the other. “Everything under control?”

“Yeah.” Grunting, Porthos finished tying the prisoners up. “Ya got any that need hogtied, Athos?”

“I killed all of mine,” Athos drawled, not feeling the slightest remorse.

“Of course you did, mon frere.” Pushing his chapeau back from his head Aramis swiped at the sweat threatening to drip down into his eyes.

“Where’s d’Artagnan?” Voicing his question, Athos looked around with concern. His protégé was nowhere to be seen. By now Aramis and Porthos had tied the thick ropes binding the prisoners to the back of their own mounts. The malandrin's horses had long since run off. At least this way the captives would be walking behind them until the nearest village was reached. Dropping these men off there would leave them free to continue on with their mission. Since the criminals were now secured, Athos had no intention of wasting anymore time. Searching for their fourth was now their priority. “I want him found now!”

Splitting up it took them a full hour of fruitless searching to realize d’Artagnan was no longer in the area. An ear-splitting whistle from Porthos had the other two running over to his position. What he held in his hands filled all of them with dread.

Reaching out a shaky hand for d’Artagnan’s sword and pauldron, Athos’ heart stuttered. "Mon Dieu!" he whispered quietly.

Holding the whelp's weapons belt close to his chest, Porthos exchanged a sad look with Aramis that neither man wanted Athos to see.

Finding his vocal chords beginning to work again, Athos croaked, “Any blood?” his eyes darkened with pain, willing Porthos to say there was none.

“That’s the only good thing so far.” Kicking out at a loose rock he gruffly said, “There weren't any signs of it that I could see.” Listening to Aramis quietly recite a prayer of thanks, Porthos silently added his own.

"Merde!" Aramis swore. "The others that got away had to have taken him." Staring into his friend's grim faces he stated what they all knew. "Nothing short of death would have separated d'Artagnan from his pauldron and père's sword." Spinning around in a circle, Aramis held out his arms. "I see no body."

"And since the kid's not around 'ere it's safe ta assume 'e's alive. You're right, Mis, those batards took 'im!" Porthos growled, fists clenching and unclenching in anger.

"Before I knew d'Artagnan had been kidnapped, my initial plan was for us to ride into the closest village on the way to Calais and drop our prisoners off there. Since I don't know how far out of our way it would take us from wherever they've taken d'Artagnan, I propose we double back going to that village we passed through over an hour ago.” He would not let despair grasp him by the throat. Still clutching d’Artagnan’s prized possessions, Athos slowly walked over to where Roger was tied. “We can't go forward dragging them along with us, they'll only slow us down. Leaving them with the local gendarmes until we could collect them on our return home will just have to do.” Carefully he tucked the young Gascon’s pauldron inside one of his saddlebags. As for the lad’s sword, Athos attached it to his own weapons belt. Swearing to return the blade to its rightful owner personally.

++++

_Over four hours later_

Having left others of his rogue band at the mercy of the Musketeers, Louis was pleased at the prize he had won nonetheless. Glancing behind him at the limp form of the young man who was currently draped over his horse, he grinned to himself. Not a bad day’s take he thought, even though he lost some good men in the process.

"Boss, I'm worried about those Musketeers we left back there." Francois kept looking over his shoulder for signs of being followed.

"They'll be hampered dragging their prisoners along with them." Unconcerned, Louis knew those Musketeers would have to unload his former colleagues somewhere before continuing their pursuit. "Don't give yourself a headache. We'll have plenty of time to get our cargo to Nevers."

Eyes on the unconscious boy, Jacque's lips smacked together. "Going to put him up for auction then?"

Louis nodded. "It's not very often an opportunity likes this drops into my lap. So why waste it?" His coarse laughter met with snorts of amusement from the rest of his men. "It isn't like we haven't done this before."

"Kid's pretty enough to fetch a tidy sum," Jean Henri remarked. "Good thing we're not to far away from Nevers."

"Two or three more days should find us there, mes amis." Having traveled for over several hours, and with the sun near setting, Louis felt that he had put sufficient distance between himself and the Musketeers. Figuring it would be safe enough, he ordered his men to set up camp. It was then that sounds of moaning reached Louis' ears. Laughing he glanced over at his men. "It would seem our captive is rousing."

With Jean Henri's help, Louis managed to get the young man on the ground. "He has the look of a Gascon about him. They're usually good hard workers."

"Yeah but the bids should be much higher cause of his looks alone." Trading sly smiles with Francois, Jean Henri helped Louis move the boy over propping him up against the base of a large tree.

"The auction house we're taking the kid too doesn't deal in pretty faces." Leaning down Louis examined the boy's injuries. "The appeal at this auction is strictly for labor." He wasn't happy at the gash covering the youngster's forehead. "I'm almost a hundred percent certain this one comes from Gascony which is mostly a farming community." Feeling the burgeoning muscles underneath the lad's doublet, confirmed Louis' initial assessment. "You have to be strong and tough to work the land." Straightening up, he stared at his men. "And that's what will bring us a lot of money."

"Kid looks near dead to me." Setting up camp, Monette just shook his head. He didn't feel the boy would last the trip to Nevers, let alone getting him to the auction house.

"I'm sure he's got a concussion," Louis pointed out. "Which would be the reason why the kid's having a hard time waking up." Signaling Tobias to come over, Louis handed him a clean rag from his saddlebag. "Take care of that gash."

++++

At the touch of the cool cloth against his overheated skin, d'Artagnan's eyes began to slowly flutter open. Of course what little daylight there was left hurt his eyes, making him immediately close them against it. When he thought to try again this time they remained open, only to find himself staring into the face of a stranger. What happened to his friends? "Who...," he licked dry lips, "who... are you?"

"Don't much matter who I am," Tobias chuckled. "Question is... who are you?"

His head was killing him, along with an awful ache in his left arm. Jerking his chin out of the man's hand d'Artagnan turned his face away, bending over to lose the contents of his stomach in the dirt.

"Yeah." Snickering, Tobias glanced over at Louis. "He's got a concussion all right." When his hand brushed against the Gascon's left arm, the kid hissed in pain. With great difficulty Tobias removed the young man's doublet. Rolling the sleeve of the boy's shirt up, he whistled through his teeth at what he saw.

Coming up behind Tobias, Louis leaned over the man's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Boy's got a deep wound in that arm." Standing back up Tobias rubbed the back of his neck. "I think we should leave the kid here." Seeing the scowl on Louis' face, he knew his boss didn't like that suggestion. "I mean that gash and concussion were bad enough. Now his arm's a mess too. What kind of money would we collect for damaged goods like this?"

"By the time we get to Nevers the kid's concussion should ease up somewhat," Louis shrugged. "As for the gash on his forehead at least it doesn't need stitching now that you've cleaned it up."

"Yeah, Louis, it did look worse than it was until I mopped up the blood. But what about his arm?" Thinking this was a bad mistake, Francois wasn't happy taking this kid with them.

"We'll have to tend to it so it doesn't become infected." Thinking that would take care of everything, Louis went to get the supplies needed. "I'm sure we'll still get a good price for him regardless of his injuries. Boy's young. He'll heal and be strong enough to pull a plow later."

Feeling quite sick, d'Artagnan wished for oblivion once more. Along with the world spinning around him, his stomach felt like heaving again. Nevertheless, the stranger's words penetrated the pounding in his skull. No wonder the inseparables were nowhere to be seen. He had been kidnapped to sell to the highest bidder. Swallowing down the bile that threatened to make a reappearance, d'Artagnan prayed his friends would find him in time.

++++

_Journeying in search of their youngest_

Having discharged the care of their prisoners to the local gendarmes in the village like Athos had said they would, the inseparables started off on a different mission... _saving d'Artagnan_.

Riding for well over another hour found the three silent men casting their eyes upon the setting sun. None of them wanted to stop yet but a voice of reason spoke up anyway.

"Tis starting to get dark." Riding between both of his brothers, Aramis waited for one of them to protest. If he were to lay money on it, Aramis knew who it would be.

"Your point!" Snapping impatiently at the marksman, Athos didn't need nor want anything to impede their search.

Eyebrows rose on both Porthos' and Aramis' faces at their eldest friend's sharp response.

" _My point_ was that we won't be able to see two feet in front of us soon and should find a place to make camp for the night." Perhaps he should have rephrased his suggestion in another way, Aramis grimaced at the furious face that turned his way.

"We've wasted enough time already!" Growling at his brothers, Athos' temper kept rising. He knew it wasn't their fault. Any of this. Still he felt the need to vent his anger on them. "You know they took him! Aren't you worried for the lad?"

"That's a damn fool question to ask us, Athos!" Now Porthos was close to knocking his friend off from that high perch Athos chose to sit on from time to time.

"Before we all come to blows," tipping his chapeau low over his forehead, "shall I remind you, Athos, that we're all on the same side wanting nothing more than to find d'Artagnan?" It was like observing the mountain Athos was named after crumble to pieces before his very eyes. This was the first time Aramis had ever witnessed Athos' vulnerability and he didn't like it. Turning his face away, Aramis hoped he'd never have to see it again.

"My humblest apologies, gentlemen." Struggling for control, Athos' hands tightened on Roger's reins. "I fear if we do not find the pup soon..."

"I don't want ta 'ear that kinda talk!" Just as unhappy as everyone else, Porthos didn't want to listen to any negative words. "The whelp lands on 'is feet like a damn cat! We all know that."

Rubbing his chin, Aramis' dark eyes glittered strangely. "I believe the lad has more than _nine_ lives at times, making cats everywhere envious I'm sure." He afforded himself a small smile, thinking upon it. "I have often found myself wondering, after d'Artagnan's gotten himself out of another life threatening situation, which life the youngster used up." It was a small jest meant to lift up their somber mood. Noting the slightest twitch of Athos' lips, it had been worth Aramis' efforts.

++++

_The Malandrin's camp_

The campfire warmed the chill coursing through d'Artagnan's lean frame. It was worrisome for him as he felt like a fever had already set in. With his body alternating between hot and cold, he really felt lousy. Still d'Artagnan wasn't going to let his illness hold him back from making an escape attempt, the first opportunity that presented itself.

His arm was hot to the touch. D'Artagnan hoped he would feel better after having the injury treated. One of the men had disinfected the wound with alcohol after staunching the bleeding. It had hurt like a bitch when the liquid had poured over his injury. But d'Artagnan didn't give any of them the satisfaction of even a whimper. Athos would have been proud. When the wound had been thoroughly cleaned, the man then set about stitching it up. It was not accomplished with the skill that Aramis possessed with a needle, and d'Artagnan knew it would leave a jagged scar. He could hear the marksman clucking his teeth at it now, which brought a small smile to his lips.

Dwelling more upon the possibilities of escaping, there wouldn't be a better time than when all the malandrins were asleep. At least that was his plan for now. Ill or not, d'Artagnan would persevere. He was a Musketeer now and that’s what they did. Words that Athos once told him came to his foggy mind. They were truly words to live by. _Never give up for that is just the place and the time that the tide will turn_. D'Artagnan vowed that his _tide would turn_ soon.

++++

Listening to the sounds of snoring men, d’Artagnan figured this would be the time to make his move. If not for the dying embers of their campfire, he wouldn’t be able to see a blessed thing as it was pitch black already. Those fools thought because d’Artagnan was hurt, they had no need to truss him up like an animal. In that he silently thanked them, because it left him free to escape.

On two very shaky legs d’Artagnan slowly gained his feet by clutching the bark of the tree, he was lying against, pulling himself up. That little bit of effort made more sweat pour down his face. Of course that could have been from the fever that was enveloping his body. Aramis was going to have a fit and a half when he caught sight of the shape d’Artagnan was in. Pushing those thoughts aside for later, his first priority was to get the hell away from here and the fate that awaited him if he didn’t.

Leaning against the tree, d'Artagnan's harsh breathing sounded so loud in his ears he thought the entire camp could hear it. Listening to see if any of the men stirred, he was pleased when no sound reached him. He was wary about heading into the woods. It wasn’t an option he would have normally taken, as now he didn’t even have the campfire to light his way. Stumbling over some broken tree limbs lying on the ground d’Artagnan fell to his knees, more than a few times. He would later have bruises to add to his already numerous injuries. For a few precious moments, d’Artagnan simply stayed in that position. Wouldn’t it be nice if he could just wish himself back to where he had last seen his brothers? Ah! That would make it too easy for d’Artagnan. When had life ever done that for him, eh?

Crawling on his hands and knees until he could focus his blurry vision better, d’Artagnan finally managed to stand back up. Though he nearly took a header when a bout of dizziness hit him hard. Merde! That was all he needed. Taking in a deep breath, d'Artagnan tried to steady himself so that he wouldn't fall flat on his face. Concentrating on the placement of his feet, it was then that he heard twigs snapping. The sound came from directly behind him. With no weapons to defend himself, d’Artagnan would virtually be at the mercy of whomever it was.

Upon hearing the low chuckle, a chill ran up and down d’Artagnan’s spine. Dropping his chin to his chest, he could have cried. On that note Athos’ deep voice sounded off inside his aching head, gently scolding him. _Do not be a child, d’Artagnan. Be a man. Be the Musketeer you were born to be._ Tis what his mentor would have said if Athos had been with him and well d'Artagnan knew it.

"So this is where you've gotten too, my petit Gascon." He should be angry with the boy but Louis was actually amazed that the youngster had gotten this far, considering the injuries he had sustained. "I'm afraid you're coming back with me." Then the unexpected happened to the stunned man. His captive charged him, with an animalistic roar that would have done a lion proud. Grappling with him, Louis tried not to make the kid's injuries worse than they already were. But the young man proved to be slippery as an eel. When Louis finally got the upper hand in their fight, it was only because the Gascon's multiple wounds had hampered the boy. What he hadn't counted on was that somehow his prize had managed to remove Louis' poignard from his belt.

Struggling over the weapon, to Louis' dismay, it ended up in the Gascon's right leg. "Nom de Dieu!" Louis shouted. There was no way now that the boy would be any use to him. Not with an additional injury added to the others. Letting the younger man roll away from him, Louis stood up. "You would have brought me a hell of a lot of money, kid." Turning on his heel, he headed back to camp thinking of all the time he had wasted.

From d'Artagnan's position on the ground, he watched the retreating figure. He should have felt overjoyed but all he felt was just plain sick. The pain in his leg was excrutiating. Wishing that Aramis was by his side to take away the agony, d'Artagnan bit his lip until it bled. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn't get him out of this predicament. If he could hold out until the morn perhaps he would be able to find something to use as a crutch. Taking care of his latest wound d'Artagnan tore a strip off of his shirt, trying to staunch the blood. Since it was so dark he couldn't see that well, but from what he could tell the bleeding had slowed which was a good sign. Tearing off another piece of material he wrapped it around the injury. Barely able to make out a protruding rock d'Artagnan dragged himself painfully toward it. Exhausted he leaned against it closing his eyes, falling into a fitful slumber.

++++

_Next morning_

A restless, and nearly sleepless, night had been spent by all the inseparables. The fate of their young one gave them all nightmares. Arising early, they ate a hasty breakfast in near silence. Back on their mounts, the sun rose to taunt them that it was a bright, new day. They retraced their steps, ending back up at the spot where they had last engaged those malandrins.

"I'll scout ahead," Porthos offered. "Look for tracks." Leading Roulette away from his brothers, he kept his eyes sharp. Not wanting to miss any signs that could lead them to the whelp.

"Athos, you do know that d'Artagnan's strong and as stubborn as they come." Humming softly to himself, Aramis kept his eyes on his friend. "Reminds me of someone else. Care to guess who it is?" Aiming his mild barb at Athos, he earned himself a half-hearted attempt at a glower from the older officer.

"That goes without saying, that d'Artagnan's stubborn as the day is long." Running a hand down Roger's long mane, Athos tried to contain his emotions. "But the pup's alone and God only knows what condition he is in."

"He'll wait for us to find him, mon frere." Pointing to his heart, Aramis locked eyes with his brother. "I feel it here."

"I pray you are right, Aramis." A whistle split the air, making Athos jerk in his saddle startling Roger.

"I do believe Porthos has found something." Grinning, Aramis turned Belle around. "Shall we join him?"

"After you." Touching d'Artagnan's sword, Athos swallowed past the lump in his throat and followed the marksman.

When his friends caught up with him, Porthos had his feet planted on the ground. "Found their tracks. They didn't bother to cover 'em."

"Tis because they knew we had our hands full with part of their merry band," Aramis said what they already knew, "knowing we couldn't go after them right away."

"Which could end up going against them." Glancing first at Porthos then at Aramis, Athos' face was thoughtful. "If they believed we were occupied elsewhere..."

Realizing where their leader was going with this, Aramis finished the other man's sentence. "They wouldn't be in any hurry getting away."

"Meanin' those batards aren't as far from 'ere as we thought." Just wait until Porthos got his hands on them. He'd pound them into the ground. Making them eat dirt.

"Then why tarry here, mes amis?" With a wink and a jaunty tip of his chapeau, Aramis clucked his tongue urging Belle to follow Porthos who was in the lead.

++++

_Lost in the woods_

By the next morn, d'Artagnan felt worse than ever. Heat radiated off his body, even though chills shook his slender frame. This was so not good news, knowing he only had himself to rely on getting out of these woods. Wanting nothing more than to find the main road that would get him back to Paris, d'Artagnan slowly limped past the trees and brush that seemed endless. Having found a long sturdy branch on the ground he used that as his crutch. The wound in his leg burned continually and he feared, with nothing to treat it, infection would soon set in. He didn't need to be told that his arm already was, as it was hot to the touch. He was a mess and berated himself for getting into this condition in the first place. But Athos' words still echoed in his head. He _would_ be the Musketeer Athos thought d'Artagnan could be. Not wanting to let his mentor down, he pushed on.

++++

_Re-tracing their steps_

With Porthos' excellent tracking skills, the inseparables were pleased that it was so easy to follow the trail of the malandrins. It was to be hoped that they would be crossing paths with them soon. What they would have wanted with the boy, none of them could hazard a guess. Or, more to the point, none of them _wanted_ to. There were many things men like that could want with a young, handsome man as d'Artagnan. Too many to think upon, so they collectively blocked those thoughts from their minds.

Having been following Porthos for nearly two hours, Aramis left Athos' side to see if his larger brother felt they were getting any closer to those batards that stole their young Gascon out from under them. When Porthos held up a hand Aramis pulled Belle to a halt, waiting to see what his friend had discovered.

"I don't know," Porthos shook his head.

"What is it you don't know?" Refraining from rolling his eyes, Athos waited to see what was so puzzling.

"I'm findin' two sets of tracks now." Having jumped off Roulette's back, Porthos was on his knees studying the patterns in the dirt. "If'n they took that route they'd be headin' ta Nevers."

"The other set?" questioned Aramis.

Standing up, wiping dirt from his hands down his leathers, Porthos glanced up into Aramis' face. "Would ya believe... Calais?"

"Of course," Athos said. "They are almost the same amount of distance to each other just in different directions. So we could be looking at two completely different groups."

"Yeah," Porthos agreed. "But which one do we follow?"

Then a young, weary voice floated out to them from the protection of the woods.

"Niether." That one single word was all d'Artagnan managed to say before he passed out, tumbling to the ground.

"Mon Dieu! D'Artagnan!" Crying out the boy's name, Athos literally flew off of Roger's back to rush over to his protégé's prone form. Turning the lad onto his back, Athos placed the young Gascon's head on his lap. Brushing the pup's long hair away from d'Artagnan's face, Athos could feel the heat coming from the youngster. "Aramis!"

Not needing to be called twice, Aramis already rummaged through his medicine pouch. Taking out what would be needed. By the look of their youngest, it would take everything he had. Dropping to his knees before the unconscious youth, Aramis clucked his tongue at what he saw.

Not sure where to start first, he unwrapped the cloth around d'Artagnan's left arm. The skin around the wound was puckered, very red and appeared to be spreading. Sure signs that it was infected. "Merde!" Noting blood and yellowish colored pus oozing from it, Aramis knew the injury hadn't been treated properly even though it had been unexpertly stitched. "I'm going to have to undo those stitches to clean it up properly." The foul odor coming from the wound had Aramis wrinkling up his nose. "Porthos would you hand me that bottle of whiskey?"

"What shall I do?" Needing to keep himself occupied, lest his concern over the boy overwhelm him, Athos winced at the poor shape d'Artagnan was in.

"Go through my medicinal supplies and take out the correct herbs needed to make several poultrices." Noting Athos was listening for further instruction, Aramis continued on. "You remember the proper portions that should be mixed together?"

"Oui," Athos nodded. "I've helped you many times in the past."

"You've proved to be an apt pupil too," Aramis briefly smiled back at him. "Perhaps you've missed your calling as well, mon ami."

"Was that supposed to be amusing?" Gaining Porthos' attention, Athos switched positions with his friend. Gently placing d'Artagnan's head upon Porthos' lap, Athos then went over to Belle. Searching in another saddlebag that contained Aramis' precious herbs, he found what he wanted. Athos also knew that a fire would be needed to warm up the clean linens used for the poultrices.

"What about that gash on the kid's forehead." Looking down at the whelp, Porthos struggled with his feelings. The pup looked like he'd been through the wringer and came out the poorer for it.

"Doesn't appear too bad," Aramis murmured. "I'm not overly concerned about that for now. Tis the lad's arm that's crucial."

"His right leg, Aramis." Pointing to the bloody piece of d'Artagnan's shirt that covered the wound, Porthos' lips tightened. When Athos came back he could see the same look of fear, reflected in those blue eyes, that they all shared but were afraid to voice. The _fear_ of losing their youngest.

"Athos, take a look at it for me. I need to take care of this arm right away." Setting to work, Aramis had to pause upon hearing Athos curse loudly and he knew why without even turning his head. He could smell it. The pungent odor of infection had set in that injury as well. "Ah, d'Artagnan," Aramis spoke softly. "You never do anything by half measures, eh?"

Athos realized he couldn't stand here any longer looking at how badly hurt d'Artagnan was or he'd lose control, screaming out his anger and frustration. Then surely both his brothers would think they had two patients on their hands. Building up the fire, and starting on the herbs, gave him the excuse he needed to leave the lad's side. 

Noting that it hadn't taken Athos overlong to create a blaze, Aramis was greatly relieved. If he had been truthful with himself, Aramis had tasked his brother with helping make the poutrices to keep Athos busy. Not that it wasn't a great help to Aramis. It was. But he knew how the older man would get with nothing to do but worry over d'Artagnan. While tending to the boy occasionally Aramis would glance over toward the fire, observing Athos who was doing his best to quickly mix the herbs together.

Speedily as possible Aramis had already re-opened the wound on the lad's arm, being careful not to risk aggravating the sensitive area anymore than he had to. Disinfecting it with the alcohol would be his next step. "Merde! I forgot my sewing kit," he muttered to himself. Re-stitching the angry looking injury back up would not be pleasant under normal circumstances. But d'Artagnan hadn't uttered any protests, being still senseless in Porthos' arms. It was a blessing but also worrisome for Aramis, not being able to gauge how the youngster was truly feeling.

"I'll get it." Gently Porthos maneuvered the whelp's head from his lap onto the blanket. Rushing over to Belle he retrieved the kit. "'Ere, Mis." Placing it beside the medic, Porthos went to check on how Athos was doing. "'Ow's it comin'?"

"I finished the mixture and warmed the first cloth." Handing the one poultrice to Porthos, his large friend silently followed Athos back over to where Aramis was caring for d'Artagnan. With the first poultrice in Aramis' hands, Athos then took up his position on the blanket. Once again the young Gascon's head rested in his lap.

Running his fingers through the boy's hair calmed Athos' warring emotions. Wanting nothing more than to go after those malandrins who did this to d'Artagnan, yet needing to stay by their young one's side, Athos closed his eyes taking in a deep breath. "Hold on, pup. You've made it this far." Placing a gentle kiss to the top of d'Artagnan's head, Athos observed Aramis at work.

Working efficiently, Aramis was pleased so far. "Excellent job with the poultrice, Athos." Receiving only a dip of the other man's head, Aramis sighed gazing upon d'Artagnan's other wound. "I'll be needing the other poultrice after I take care of the lad's leg." Pursing his lips, he already knew repeating the same procedure was needed. "By the good Lord's saving grace I do not need to remove any inept stitching this time." His remark, not meant to be amusing, nevertheless was when he heard a snuff of laughter from Porthos.

In total, between both injuries, it took Aramis several hours to complete his ministrations. Now the fever that ravaged the younger man's body would be the most troublesome for the trio. One thing in their favor was a bubbling stream nearby. Aramis was able to make trips back and forth, wetting cloths to put on the boy's hot, dry skin to try and cool d'Artagnan's fever down.

"Since we're gonna be 'ere awhile I'll take the horses down ta the stream." Rubbing Roulette's nose, Porthos' horse nudged him back gently. "I think they're thirsty." Waiting for Athos or even Aramis to say something, Porthos shrugged when neither of them answered. Taking the reins of their mounts, he lead them down to the water.

He realized Porthos had been speaking to them, but all Athos could do was concentrate on d'Artagnan. "Any change?" His terse question had Aramis arching one eyebrow.

"Non!" Snapping at his friend wasn't going to make d'Artagnan instantly well again. Sometimes Aramis wondered if his friends thought he was some kind of miracle worker. He could only do so much. The boy had to do the rest, along with God's help of course. "Every time I think I've got a handle on his fever it spikes again."

"It's not good that the kid 'asn't woken up yet either." Turning his backs on his friends, Porthos' shoulders sagged. He couldn't help overhearing Athos' question before he left with the horses. The answer to his concern wasn't looking very promising either.

"The fever has the lad in its grips, I'm afraid." Sitting on a blanket beside his young brother, Aramis kept one hand on the Gascon's forehead and the other on d'Artagnan's chest. Not wanting to break contact, this also was a way for him to feel if the fever broke. Which it hadn't.

"I remember when I had an injury that festered." Catching Aramis' eye, Athos silently jogged the marksman's memory of that time. "You and Porthos had to bodily throw me into a lake to cool me off."

"We didn't _throw_ you anywhere. Less alone a lake!" Aramis argued.

"I beg to differ," Athos retorted. "I distinctly remember waking up drenched, shivering with cold, spitting out water from my aching lungs, to stare at both of you grinning loons."

"Athos 'as a point, Mis," Porthos agreed. "You and I did toss 'im in it."

"It was a small brook," Aramis huffed. "Not a lake."

"Still you two _threw_ me in it." Athos wasn't letting that part go.

"I take exception to that. As I remember Porthos and I gently placed you in the water."

"Someone's memory is faulty," Porthos pointed out. "I won't say whose."

"Thought you were watering the horses." Raising angry eyes up to him, Aramis wondered at that odd expression covering Porthos' features.

"Didn't think either of ya 'eard me," Porthos grunted. With the horses getting restless now, he continued down to the stream.

"All right, Aramis, I'll let it go for now." Listening to d'Artagnan's panting breaths, Athos knew what needed to be done. "Do you not feel tis time to do the same for him?" Slowly nodding his head in agreement, Aramis blew out a long breath. "We'll wait for Porthos to come back."

"Here I am worrying about the boy losing a limb from infection," Athos bit out. "I forgot that we could easily lose him from fever as well."

The Gascon began murmuring something then. Not being able to make it out Aramis moved closer, his face almost touching d'Artagnan's. "What was that, pup?" Once again Aramis had to place his ear above the lad's lips to listen to the weak voice.

"What did he say?" The face turning back toward Athos was nearly as white as his protégé’s.

"D'Artagnan must have heard you, Athos." Bending his head down, Aramis brushed a whisp of hair from the youngster's eyes. "He'd rather die than lose his arm or leg."

Shutting his eyes tightly, Athos wished he would have kept his damn mouth shut!

When Porthos came back, he first thought that the kid had up and died on them while he was busy with the horses. But one look at the whelp told him d'Artagnan was still among the living. "One of ya gonna tell me what I missed?" The eyes looking back at Porthos were filled with nothing but anguish.

"Lad woke up briefly," Aramis offered the giant.

"I voiced my concern that d'Artagnan could possibly end up losing his arm or leg," Athos admitted. "He heard me."

"D'Art wouldn't 'ave liked either proposition I wager." Shaking his head he went down on his knees beside the whelp.

"You would have won that bet." Shoulder brushing against Porthos, Athos whispered the words d'Artagnan spoke.

"Don't surprise me none." A grim look entered Porthos' eyes. "I woulda felt the same."

"Enough talk of losing body parts." Locking eyes with his brothers Aramis said, "Tis time to break hold of this fever, mes amis." Taking up position around d'Artagnan's inert body, he murmured a quick prayer to the Almighty for the lad's life. "On the count of three gently lift him." His hands firmly grasped d'Artagnan under the shoulders, while Porthos and Athos took hold of the boy's legs. Aramis then began to count. " _One... two... three_." Carrying d'Artagnan over to the stream they carefully placed the Gascon in the cool flowing water. Immediately the youth's limbs began thrashing about. It took all their combined strength to hold his body down, if the water was to do any good.

"'Ow long should we keep the kid soakin'?"

"I don't want to risk d'Artagnan coming down with pneumonia on top of everything else." The water was cold but not extremely so. Thinking that short durations in the stream were called for, Aramis decided that's how they'd proceed. "We'll start with five perhaps seven minutes. No longer than that and then take him back to camp. Then we wait to see if his fever goes down."

"What if it doesn't?" Watching the torment his protégé was suffering through, Athos wanted it over and done with. But would that be more for his benefit or d'Artagnans? Athos wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"We'll keep repeating the cool baths until I'm satisfied d'Artagnan's out of danger." Praying neither of them asked what would Aramis do if it didn't work, he silently asked God for his intervention again.

It took four separate attempts in the water, before the inseparables efforts were rewarded. Weary beyond belief they collapsed near the stream, where they had placed d'Artagnan. Their young Gascon may have looked like a good puff of wind could have blown him over, but in reality the lad was heavier than he appeared. Added to that the weight of the boy's wet clothing and it had been a struggle for the three men.

When d'Artagnan eventually blinked his eyes open, he turned his head slowly to one side. He was pleased that he was no longer alone and that somehow his brothers had found him. But why was his hair plastered to his face? Feeling uncomfortably wet all over, that's when he thought perhaps he got caught out in a storm. It hadn't been raining out. At least he didn't think it had. Why was his memory all fuzzy? Still wondering about it, he turned confused eyes upon his friends. Where and when had they turned up? D'Artagnan couldn't remember that either. Perhaps they're the reason he's wet to the skin. "Did I do somethng wrong that you're all trying to drown me?"

"My boy!" Leaning down until Athos' forehead touched the pup's wet one, he was finally able to breathe easier. "How are you feeling?"

"Tis a stupid question!" d'Artagnan glared up at his mentor. "Asking a man who is clearly soaked to the skin and questioning the sanity of his brothers!"

"I think the whelp's back." Laughing with relief, Porthos bent down to ruffle the kid's wet, straggly hair.

"I'll be the judge of that." Serious dark eyes turned on the lad. "Let's get d'Artagnan back to camp."

They were by the edge of the stream so helping the wet, and bedraggled, Gascon up from the ground became a tricky proposition for the inseparables. Guiding d'Artagnan on shaky legs, whether the pup's or their own, they managed to get him back to where they set camp up. They were all weary, still the inseparable's hearts were much lighter now.

Even though it was daylight, Porthos re-kindled the fire so as to warm the Gascon up. Removing the boy's clothing was their next priority. Wrapping d'Artagnan up in heavy blankets, until all but the pup's head was visible, they set the lad down on top of another blanket.

"Lay down," Aramis commanded softly. Noting the stubborn look on his friend's face, he sighed. "Does everything with you have to come down to an argument?" Then Aramis was sorry he had said anything, noting that his words had upset his younger brother.

Screwing up his face, d'Artagnan's eyes began to fill up with unshed tears. "First I lost my battle with one of those malandrins. Next I woke up in their camp a prisoner not only to them but to my injuries." Swallowing hard, d'Artagnan peeked out at his mentor through wet bangs, then slowly turned his head away. "I waited until they slept to escape but I didn't manage to get very far when their leader discovered me."

"Sounds ta me like ya did alot considerin' how badly ya were 'urt, d'Art." Sitting close beside the whelp, Porthos nudged him with his shoulder.

"Not enough," d'Artagnan muttered under his breath. "Louis and I fought. I managed to get his poignard from him only to have it end up in my leg." Rubbing at the wound, he snatched his hand back when Aramis gently slapped it wagging a warning finger at him. Pouting, d'Artagnan continued to relate his story. "I wasn't any use to him by then because of my numerous injuries. So he left me."

There wasn't any further need for explanations after that, as far as Athos was concerned. Except for one thing. "Do you have any idea what he was going to do with you?"

"I overheard them when I was beginning to wake up." Grimacing in distaste, d'Artagnan's gaze encompased his three best friends. "I was to be sold for slave labor." Noting Porthos bristle with indignation, there was nothing d'Artagnan could do to soften his words. They were the truth. Feeling the warm touch of Aramis' fingers against his skin, d'Artagnan leaned into it.

"Mmmmm," Aramis hummed. "I do believe you'll live to torment the rest of us for some time to come." Looking at Athos he made a suggestion. "What say you that if I feel d'Artagnan's up to it within the next hour or so we all carry on to Calais?" Watching Athos open his mouth to argue the point, Aramis held his hand up. "I wasn't finished," he smiled. "But we stop at the nearest town on the way to leave our youngest with their physician until we complete our assignment?"

"I could work with that." Athos doubted d'Artagnan would. Judging by the way his protégé’s jaw clamped shut on words of protest, he knew what the young Gascon wanted to say. Patiently Athos waited for the tirade to come. When it didn't, Athos quirked a brow tilting his head to the side studying the lad. Perhaps d'Artagnan's wounds were paining him greatly? Is that why the boy didn't say anything? He was hiding it from them?

Silently understanding what was going on between Athos and d'Artagnan, Aramis sat back highly amused. "As I said let's give him a couple of hours and if I'm satisfied with his progress we could leave here."

"That's right just pretend I'm not here!" d'Artagnan fired off sharply, rolling his eyes. "That's what I'm doing!"

"I think the kid's annoyed with us." Smiling into the eyes of his two oldest friends Porthos went over to feed their horses.

"Do you feel like you could eat something?" Not sure when the last time d'Artagnan ate or held anything down for that matter, Aramis already was thinking of going out in search of a rabbit or two.

"I don't really remember." After his outburst, d'Artagnan couldn't meet the other man's eyes. When the tip of a finger tilted his chin up, he couldn't avoid the marksman's merry gaze.

"We all have our moments, d'Artagnan." Tapping the boy's nose, Aramis' glance slid over catching Athos' serious expression. "Some more than others."

"I'll try to eat something if we have it." Watching Aramis go over to Belle, pulling out his musket, d'Artagnan knew his brother was going hunting.

"We don't have it... _yet_." Humming softly to himself, Aramis disappeared into the woods.

It was just the two of them now and the words Athos wanted desperately to impart to the lad wouldn't come.

Knowing his mentor was struggling internally with something, d'Artagnan innocently told Athos what was in his heart. "At first I was scared. Then I remembered your words."

Having imparted many words to the pup, whether or not they carried wisdom, Athos was curious as to which ones d'Artagnan referred. He was pleased that something had stuck in that stubborn Gascon head of the boy's. "Which ones?"

"You once told me to _never give up for that is just the place and the time that the tide will turn_."

"Mmmmm," Athos paused to remember when he had told that to the lad. "Words to live by."

"So I thought as well." When d'Artagnan began listing to the side, his mentor sat down nudging him over to make room. Leaning against Athos' chest, d'Artagnan's head nestled in the crook of the older man's shoulder. "I wanted to make you proud by not succuming to the weakness that filled me at the time." Yawning, he closed his eyes. Before sleep claimed him, d'Artagnan barely heard Athos' words but hear them he did.

"I have always been proud of you, d'Artagnan." Pressing a gentle kiss on the lad's temple, Athos rested his head on top of the boy's. "You could never disappoint me. I think I realized that from the very first moment I clapped eyes on you. Rushing past the Garrison gates to challenge me to a duel without having all the facts. Fire was in your heart and soul that day and I thought to myself if we could harness all of that energy, in time, you would be someone to reckon with."

Feeling soft puffs of breath against his neck, Athos looked down upon the sleeping youngster. Ah, bien, he chuckled to himself. Used to his words going through one ear and coming out the other from some of his fellow brothers-in-arms, this wouldn't be the first time someone under his command went to sleep when Athos spoke. He still hadn’t had a chance to inform d’Artagnan that he had recovered the youngster's sword and pauldron. Running a hand gently through the sweat soaked locks, Athos smiled to himself. He had all the time in the world to do it now. Why rush?

When Aramis came back, two rabbits in hand, his footsteps slowed upon noting the welcoming sight of his brothers. "Fell asleep on you did he?"

"Impartin' words of wisdom I bet," Porthos joined in. "Always puts me ta sleep too."

"All right. All right. Have your little jest at my expense." All of them were speaking quietly, so as not to waken the lad. Catching sight of the rabbits, Athos was pleased. "By the time you have prepared them the boy should be awake."

"The _boy_ is awake now." Cracking one eye open, d'Artagnan stared up into his mentor's face. "Be quiet, do." Closing his eye he snuggled back into his warm nest, quietly adding under his breath, "That goes for everyone."

"Somehow I do not feel we'll be breaking camp for some while," Aramis mused. His gaze bounced from Athos to the sleeping pup the older man held in his arms. Locking eyes with Porthos both of them went to tend the fire and prepare the food.

All was well in the Musketeer’s world once again. The inseparables were back together and intended to remain that way until the day God chose to call them home. Even when that time came, because of their Earthly bond to one another it would only strengthen their heavenly one all the more.

 _All For One And One For All_ on Earth as it will be in Heaven.

The End

++++

_Notes:_

_Quote: *Never give up for that is just the place and the time that the tide will turn*._ Is from Harriet Beecher Stowe (June 14, 1811 – July 1, 1896). She was an American abolitionist and author. Best known for her novel Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852), which depicts the harsh conditions for enslaved African Americans. She was influential for both her writings and her public stances on social issues of the day.

 _Quote: "Just pretend I'm not here. That's what I'm doing."_ \- Aunty Acid.


End file.
